


If I can't relate to you anymore, then who am I related to?

by thisismetrying



Series: I had a feeling so peculiar [2]
Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, I don't know how to right anything but sadness, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Taylor Swift, Mild Sexual Content, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisismetrying/pseuds/thisismetrying
Summary: He didn’t want to beat her. He wanted to be a team with her.They weren’t a team anymore.Inspired by "Coney Island" by Taylor Swift ft. the National(kind of a follow up to "Now No One's Celebrating" but can also be read as a one-shot)
Relationships: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts
Series: I had a feeling so peculiar [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072580
Comments: 20
Kudos: 70





	If I can't relate to you anymore, then who am I related to?

**Author's Note:**

> So this can be read along with my Beth/Benny champagne problems AU of "Now No One's Celebrating" but it doesn't have to. This tells the story of the aftermath of a Beth/Benny breakup after a proposal and one way they might deal with it.
> 
> I don't own the characters or any of the lyrics (belong to Netflix and Taylor Swift)

_Break my soul in two_ _  
Looking for you but you're right here  
If I can't relate to you anymore  
Then who am I related to?  
And if this is the long haul  
How'd we get here so soon?_

_“You’ll find someone else. Someone else who wants to get married and be Mrs. Benny Watts and do all that stuff.”_

Beth’s last words to him echo in his head. She had rejected his marriage proposal, rejected a life together, rejected him.

 _Someone else,_ she said. He doesn’t want someone else. Who else could even come close to Beth? And not just in chess. He and Beth _got_ each other in a way he’d never experienced before. They weren’t perfect, sure, but they understood how each other thought. And that made Benny feel more at home than he ever had before.

He had thought they’d be together for the rest of the their lives. Benny Watts is not a romantic (really, he isn’t), but he kind of thought, after Moscow, after everything they’d been through together, they would be forever. He certainly didn’t expect them to be broken up and apart in three short years.

Benny Watts is also not selfless. He’ll admit (grudgingly,) to having an ego. But Beth Harmon brought out something different in him. It’s not that his ego disappeared. But it was _tempered_ by Beth. When he’d first met her (really met her, that is, when they’d actually talked and he’d pointed out the flaw in her game with Beltik), all he had wanted to do was beat her and win.

But slowly, somehow, over those five weeks in his apartment in New York, or somewhere along the way, even after Paris, winning and beating her became less important to him. Sure, he still liked to win. But somehow, instead of anger when Beth won, a warm feeling came to him. He was never prouder, not even of himself, than when she won against Borgov in Moscow.

He didn’t want to beat her. He wanted to be a team with her.

They weren’t a team anymore.

-

_Did I close my fist around something delicate?_ _  
Did I shatter you?_

Beth sits in her Kentucky house, so pretty with all the velvet furniture. It’s been months since Christmas and Benny’s proposal. Months since he left. Months since she’d had to replace to the phone because she’d taken a hammer to it after her last phone call to Benny.

Months since she started drinking heavily again.

Sometimes, when she’s at the bottom of the bottle, and the room is spinning and all she can do is lie there on her side on the floor, she thinks of that day.

She thinks of Benny and his smile-smirk and how he’d held her. She thinks of all the joy of their friends around them, there to celebrate Christmas. How Benny had hoped to celebrate something else.

But she’d said no. Or, technically, she didn’t say anything. She’d left the implicit answer left unsaid. Just like you can see when a game is lost without playing it out on the board, they were already in the checkmate.

Sometimes, she wonders what it would have been like if she’d said yes. She wonders if they’d be together now, if they’d be happy. Or if they’d be together and miserable, like Mrs. and Mr. Wheatley. Or if they’d be apart. If they were never meant to be for the long haul.

Benny had seemed so _sure_ that it was the right thing. She’s still not sure.

As she reaches for another drink, she wonders if the phone wasn’t the only thing shattered that day.

-

_And I'm sitting on a bench in Coney Island wondering where did my baby go?  
The fast times, the bright lights, the merry go_

When Benny finally leaves his apartment for something other than food and cigarettes, he goes to Coney Island.

He’d taken Beth there once. They’d played some arcade games, ate hot dogs, and went on the famous ferris wheel.

He’d also told her he loved her for the first time there. They’d been looking out at the beach and she’d looked so _perfect_ , her hands settled the way she does when she’s contemplating her next big move, when she’s about to corner someone into defeat. She hadn’t said it back.

But still--perfection. That’s what he’d felt those months with Beth had been. Or, as close to perfection that people like him and Beth could get to.

He remembers those months, with the two of them shuffling back and forth between Kentucky and New York and all the invitational and tournament places.

He remembers a recent Las Vegas trip, the last US Open. They’d both played, and Beth had, of course won. It had come down to the two of them again (like it often did in US matches). Afterwards, they’d gone up to the hotel pool and shed their clothes. He’d skinny dipped before, but the thrill of doing it with Beth had been something else. It wasn’t even an irregular occurrence for him (Benny Watts had certainly skinny-dipped in his share of hotel pools), but Beth made even the ordinary feel extraordinary, feel magical.

There was something about her. Even when they were training and playing grandmaster games that bored Beth to death, the way she moved the pieces, the way she analyzed the moves and could list off the strengths and weaknesses in seconds, it made him want to never leave her side.

He remembers the lazy Sunday mornings spent in bed. He remembers never wanting to leave the bed with Beth, wanting to stay there all day, not leaving for anything, not even chess.

It had been so different from their first time, where his first thoughts after had been about whether she should play the Sicilian or not. Now, he could hardly think about anything but Beth for hours after. He remembers the clean scent of her soap on his pillow.

And he remembers that Christmas, with all the lights and decorations up around her house. Remembers how happy he was. Remembers how crushed he was. Remembers the long drive back where he’d very uncharacteristically raged and screamed in his Beetle.

 _Where did it all go?_ He sighs and throws his uneaten hot dog away. (The last word of that sentence, the _wrong_ , is left in his subconscious).

_-  
Sorry for not making you my centerfold_

Beth drinks and plays chess. Plays chess and drinks. Sometimes, she does interviews.

Chess Review usually has a piece on her, her latest game or achievement or some such thing. Other magazines request her too. It’s tiring and vaguely annoying, but the money is good.

She poses for LIFE again, this time posing by the piano with all her trophies on it.

The reporter remarks on what a _lovely_ house she has. She asks her the regular questions, but also seems to want to get a more personal angle. She keeps asking about Beth’s life in Lexington, about her daily routine, her friends.

“And is there someone special you’re sharing all your accomplishments with, Beth? You’ve been linked with several other well-known figures in the chess world,” the interviewer asks, finally just getting it out there. Beth hates the euphemism _someone special._ Why don’t they just ask her who she’s fucking? At least that’s direct. And _sharing her accomplishments_ with? Like she needs a man (or woman) to share the joy of winning chess and being the best with?

(She wonders who the reporter is thinking of when she says _well-known_ _figures_. It’s probably Benny. But it could be Townes. Or even Harry. Hell, it could even be Matt or Mike, there have been some wild rumors over the years. But it’s probably Benny. She’s surprised the interviewer didn’t ask directly about him. The reporters always seem to want to go back to Benny.)

“I have some great friends in and out of chess, but currently I’m just focusing on staying at the top of the game.”

Her picture, alone with all those trophies, and the interview, make the centerfold of LIFE.

_-_

_Over and over  
Lost again with no surprises  
Disappointments, close your eyes  
And it gets colder and colder  
When the sun goes down_

Sometimes, she can’t decide who checkmated who. Who put the other in the spot that made them end. _Technically,_ Benny left. But she’d said no. But Benny had pushed. But she hadn’t reciprocated.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. They were always a tangled mess anyway.

_-_

_The question pounds my head  
"What's a lifetime of achievement?"  
If I pushed you to the edge  
But you were too polite to leave me_

Benny gets back out there. He goes out to bars with friends, listens to shitty music drinking shitty beer in shitty basements.

He enters tournaments and opens and attends invitationals. All local, all ones he knows Beth won’t be at. He’s careful to check beforehand.

He tries to move on.

He wins. He wins at poker, he wins at chess. In some ways, he’s better than ever. He’s faster, seeing more flaws quicker, winning in fewer moves. ( _He wonders if it’s because of Beth.)_

The magazines and press take a renewed interest in him, inviting him for different interviews and shoots. He does them and artfully dodges any questions about a special someone.

The shelves in his basement overflow with trophies and ribbons. They used to make him happy, seeing them and all his achievements reflected in their shiny metal. Now, they just seem like useless clutter.

He remembers their weeks of training for Paris, back when they’d first met, _really met_ , and got to know each other. The intense hours of training, going over grandmaster games and problems. When she’d beaten him at speed chess. When they’d first had sex.

He remembers how she was so annoyed that he’d talked about chess straight after. At that moment, he had been confused. Who didn’t think about chess all the time? What else was there to life?

Now he knows.

It’s ironic, he thinks, how their relationship had flipped over the years. No doubt, she’s more obsessed with chess. She lives and breathes it. Like he once did. Before her.

Now, he has to tear his mind away from Beth to concentrate solely on chess.

He wonders if this is where they went wrong. If he’d asked for too much, had somehow asked her to take some of her attention from chess?

But was that so wrong?

-

_And do you miss the rogue  
Who coaxed you into paradise and left you there?  
Will you forgive my soul  
When you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?_

They orbit each other, like planets on a separate track, never coming quite too close.

He’s at an invitational in San Francisco. She’s doing press there.

She’s at a tournament in D.C.. He’s just passing through, seeing old friends _(not her though)._

He visits hotel pools too much. She visits hotel bars too much.

She buys too much vodka and wine. He buys too many condoms and too much apple juice.

When she’s at the bottom of the bottle, she lies down and looks at the ceiling. She still plays, the pieces moving faster and faster. But it’s different than before. She doesn’t feel like she’s playing herself. The moves from the opposite side of the board have a different quality, a different sureness, a different training, like someone who’s played since he was four years old.

When he’s about to climax, the world slows and slows. And he’s overcome with pieces of his life he’d rather leave behind. Too many women leave right after, after he says the wrong name, muttering something along the lines of _“asshole.”_ He falls asleep without thinking about chess. Delicate hands, pretty dresses, and red hair haunt his dreams.

- _  
'Cause we were like the mall before the Internet  
It was the one place to be  
The mischief, the gift wrapped suburban dreams  
Sorry for not winning you an arcade ring_

Harry Beltik meets a nice girl and gets married.

Beth is invited. Benny is invited.

Beth goes and wears a pretty dress and picks out some dishware set from the department store.

Benny does not.

Harry and his girl visit New York for their honeymoon, and while they’re there, they have dinner with Benny. They give a recap of the wedding and tell him about the ceremony, the dress, the flowers, and the cake. Benny smiles politely and expresses his regrets about not being there. The two of them are ridiculously in love, anyone can see it. They think he doesn’t notice, but they’re holding hands under the table almost the entire meal. Benny notices. That night, he dreams of a red-head in a white dress and a honeymoon in Europe.

Harry and his girl buy a house in the same neighborhood as Beth. The house is very pretty and has a white picket fence ( _of course,_ Beth thinks), and will hold a bunch of children. Beth visits and they chatter on about game nights with other couples and how many children they want and school districts and in-laws. Beth smiles politely through it, mentally playing chess with herself when she thinks she absolutely cannot handle any more of this. She goes home and gets very, very drunk.

-

_Over and over  
Lost again with no surprises  
Disappointments, close your eyes  
And it gets colder and colder  
When the sun goes down_

They meet face-to-face for the first time in a year in Las Vegas.

It’s at the US Open, at the place they first faced off.

They don’t speak or even come within twenty feet of each other the first two days. Some people wonder if they’re actively avoiding each other. Both of them are highly aware of the other’s presence. Each plans their moves about the hotel and tournament almost as closely as they play their actual matches.

In the end, their first interaction is rather anti-climatic. Beth has finished her games for the day, and all she wants to do is go soak in the bath. Playing all these US players, who are so _mediocre_ compared to the Russians and even some of the other Europeans, is exhausting in its own way. She hopes for some real competition soon. She’s already playing a tough mental game against herself when she walks to her room.

Benny is just finishing giving an interview with some reporter whose name he can’t remember. He’s at the end of the hallway, just before a corner, leaving the room of the reporter when he realizes he forgot to ask when the article will be published. He makes to turn around when someone veers into him. He reflexively reaches his arm out to steady them, grabbing onto a skinny arm. 

“—ow, watch where you’re going!”

Beth reaches to rub her head. It wasn’t a bad collision, but it’s really about the principle of it. People should better watch where they’re going. She looks up at who the culprit might be. She lowers her hand and swallows. Suddenly, she’s very aware of the hand on her arm.

“Oh, hello,” she breathes, unsure what to do, feeling like she’s still being knocked off her balance. “Benny,”

Benny stands frozen. If Beth feels unmoored, then he’s absolutely floored. _Ironic, huh?_ A little voice in his head says. _After all your careful maneuvering, this is how happens._

He clears his throat, unsure. “Hi, Beth.”

They stand there like that, for a minute. His hand on her arm, both reminded of an opening in New York in a basement years ago. The endgame’s over, and has been for a long time. But when they’re both here, standing, not moving, neither is clear on what the middlegame had ever been.

He disengages his hand from her arm. She stands up a bit straighter and nods to him, “Nice seeing you,” and walks off, trying to regather her mental chess game.

He stands there for a long time after that, like a sucker who’s just gotten beat and is trying to study the board and just can’t see how his king ended up its side.

-

_Were you waiting at our old spot  
In the tree line by the gold clock  
Did I leave you hanging every single day?  
Were you standing in the hallway  
With a big cake, happy birthday  
Did I paint your bluest skies the darkest gray?_

_A universe away_

One night, Matt and Mike round up every player they can find and shepherd them up to the hotel pool. It’s a blast, but most turn in early so they can get enough rest for the next day’s games.

Benny arrives late, at the tail-end, when most people have gone. A few people are milling around, but no one’s in the pool. Except one.

He sees her, floating at the top of the pool. She doesn’t have a swim cap on and her red hair is fanned out, framing her face. Her eyes are closed, the water almost still around her. She looks almost serene. But she is Beth, and there is always something lingering under the surface, always a bit of chaos that can never be quelled.

He gets in and swims over to her, splashing a little when he gets near. He doesn’t know why he does it, it’s like a magnet in him pulling him to her.

She opens her eyes. “Why, hello, Benny,” she says and smiles that coy smile of hers.

His words catch in his throat. “Why, hello, Beth.”

They are silent for a few more minutes, Beth still floating, looking up at the sky, and Benny treading water, looking at Beth.

“You ready for your games tomorrow?” she asks, seemingly with genuine interest.

“Of course. Not much competition here,” he says, answer at the ready, having been asked that a million times this past week.

She raises her eyebrows.

“Except you, of course,” he corrects. He coughs, “And you?”

She smiles and nods. “Sometimes, I even wonder why I do these US tournaments any more,” she sighs. “They get so _boring_.”

Benny nods. He’s wondered why she continues doing these tournaments too, when she’s so clearly calibers beyond any of the rest of them US players.

“I’ve been going to more international tournaments and invitationals,” she continues. “But it’s expensive.”

He nods. He knows that all too well. “No church group fundings lately?”

She wrinkles her nose and laughs. “No, you know my stance on that.” She stops floating and adjusts to start treading water.

“Besides,” she says, almost nonchalantly. “It’s hard to do international without a second.” She’s looking straight into his eyes now.

He has to tear his gaze away. “Well, you could have had a second,” he says. “You could have a second.” His voice is bitter but also full of longing and desperation.

She sighs and reaches for a stray lock of hair covering his eye. He pulls back abruptly, not sure if he can handle the contact.

“Oh, Benny.”

He doesn’t say anything back, he can’t, the words he wants to scream caught in his throat. The things he wants to yell at her, the pleas he wants to beg her, the words he wants to pour out to her.

She smiles sadly and swims away, leaving him to drown once again. 

- _  
And when I got into the accident  
The sight that flashed before me was your face  
But when I walked up to the podium  
I think that I forgot to say your name_

Beth wins the world championship. It comes down to her and Borgov, again. Georgi comes in a close third.

The press is absolutely wild for her when she comes back. Somehow, the federation ropes her into a three-hour interview and shoot with some big lifestyle magazine. It’ll be huge for chess, they say. They did pay for part of her way this time, so she figures she owes them that. Besides, she might get some free clothes out of it.

The questions are standard, routine really. At least this time, there’s no weird, invasive questions, although they do comment on her clothes and fashion sense more than the chess magazines.

“Your story is quite incredible. An orphan rising to be the Chess World Champion! You’re quite a marvel and deserve so much credit. But who are some of the people who helped you along the way?”

She starts with her standard answer, talking about Mr. Shaibel and Mother and Jolene.

“Great, great,” the reporter continues. “And what about fellow professional chess players? Did any of them help with your training on the way up?” This reporter asks honestly and earnestly, not privy to any chess world gossip.

Beth pauses. In the past, she would have listed Matt and Mike and Hilton and Levertov and Harry and then given Benny a special commendation. He had, after all, helped her the most. It was him who’d made the call to Russia. Him who’d been her second for those years. The past doesn’t change and all of this is still true, but it feels different now.

She simply lists all their names. 

__-

_I'm on a bench in Coney Island wondering where did my baby go?  
The fast times, the bright lights, the merry go_

They continue to orbit each other, only briefly meeting, sometimes engaging in stilted conversations, each wondering how they got there.

 _Will it always be this awkward?_ Beth wonders.

 _Will it always hurt this much?_ Benny wonders.

Beth drinks her worries away, ordering too much liquor to her room.

Benny’s surrounds himself with fans at the hotel bar, sipping his apple juice and scanning the room for a hint of red that never shows up.

- _  
When the sun goes down_

_The sight that flashed before me was your face  
When the sun goes down  
But I think that I forgot to say your name_

When they run into each other next, it’s the night before the last game at a Canadian invitational. Tomorrow, they’ll play each other. Somehow, even though they’ve been at many tournaments together, they’ve avoided this so far. Sometimes, one of them is just visiting the tournament, catching up with press and friends. Sometimes, Benny doesn’t get quite to the end (Beth, of course, always wins). Sometimes, one of them has withdrawn with an illness.

But tomorrow, they’ll play.

Benny is strolling out of the hotel with a very pretty, delicate looking, slender red-head. She’d flirted with him all night, and at first he hadn’t been in the mood, but then he started thinking about tomorrow’s game and decided that he needed a distraction.

They stop in front of the elevator, waiting. Beth stumbles into the lobby and towards the elevators with a gangly man with long dirty blonde hair wearing a fedora. As bombed as she is, she still notices Benny and waves a sheepish hello.

Benny stills, but then does the polite thing and waves hello back.

The elevator doors open and the red-head tugs Benny in.

Beth tries to stand back and wait for the next one, but her companion pulls her into the elevator as well.

The elevator is small and they somehow end up side-by-side. If they reached out their hands, they could touch. They don’t.

Benny’s companion hits a button and Beth sucks in a breath when he realizes they’re on the same floor _(Benny had already known that)._

Benny feels like he can’t breathe. Beth feels like she wants to crawl out of her skin.

The elevator doors open and they all step out.

Their rooms, thankfully, are in opposite directions of the hall.

Beth coolly hands her keys over to her companion and lets him awkwardly figure out the door while she leans against the wall, eyes intent on the scene across the hallway.

Benny fumbles with his hotel keys as his companion tries to plant kisses on his neck, but he swats her away.

Beth’s companion opens the door first and she disappears inside. Benny can’t tell if she looked back.

_-  
Over and over  
Sorry for not making you my  
Making you my  
Making you my centerfold_

They shake hands and sit down to the match. Benny doesn’t look her in the eyes. Beth goes to start the clock, but it’s jammed. The tournament director goes off to find a new one and everyone around them falls into soft side conversations.Beth and Benny stay seated cross one another.

Beth looks at Benny, who looks at the stagnant board as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. She doesn’t think he’s planning his moves.

Beth breathes in. “Hey Benny?”

He starts and continues to look down at the board. Beth waits. She won’t talk to Benny like this, when he won’t even meet her eyes.

Finally, he sighs and looks up. “Yes?” The word comes out strangled, strangely full of both hope and despair.

_What did she want to say? What could she say? What was there to say, anymore?_

“Nothing.” This time, it’s her that looks down at the board.

The director comes back then, replacement clock in hand.

Beth plays the first move.

_I’m sorry._


End file.
